


Damage Control

by HeartlessAngel



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Gen, Hurt, Light Angst, M/M, Shippy Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-25
Updated: 2015-07-25
Packaged: 2018-04-11 04:23:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4421198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeartlessAngel/pseuds/HeartlessAngel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fenris can’t tell if Hawke is upset with him for leaving and turns to Carver for answers. [FenHawke Week]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Damage Control

* * *

Hawke was many things, but Fenris had thought him difficult to read. Most often than not Hawke wore his feelings on his sleeve. Flickers in his eyes, a small twitch of his eyebrows, a smile, a frown; an untrained eye could easily miss it. Fenris had actively sought for any sign of resentment these past few days. He had listened carefully to the intonation of Hawke’s voice when he spoke to him, followed the movement of his eyes, the tension in his shoulders. Thus far, Fenris had only gotten closer to lose his mind, none the wiser of Hawke’s feelings for him.

    A man who claimed to love another would surely sulk, at the very least, when left cold in the middle of the night? Fenris could not tell if he was doing this for his own sake, to tickle his ego at seeing someone yearn for him in silence, or if he was truly worried that Hawke was closing off to him. He had settled for both, preferably the first over the latter. Fenris had lost a potential lover that night, he could not bear to lose a friend, too.

    It was near midnight at the Hanged Man and the night had just started. The group sat around a table near the back where the unpleasant mixture of foul stenches did not get to their heads faster than brew served. Isabela placed her bet and leaned forward to do so. Merrill clutched at her cards and held them close to her chest. With practice, she had learned to not make it too easy for Isabela to cheat. Hawke rubbed his chin and studied his cards carefully. The scratching of his jaw and the rubbing of his neck told them all that Hawke had lost for the second time that night, only he was not ready to admit defeat quite yet.

    “I knew we should’a played for coin!” Varric laughed when Hawke finally put his cards down.

  “Someone has tampered with the deck of cards,” Hawke chuckled, but tried to keep a serious expression. “I have never lost twice in a row.”

    “Don’t look at me. Varric brought the cards,” Isabela said slyly.

    “Gamlen’s luck has rubbed off on you, perhaps,” said Carver and took a sip of his beer.

   “I want nothing of his rubbed off on me.” Hawke gave Carver a glare that was weakened by the disgusted look on his face.

   “Preach,” said Isabela. “Speaking of things nobody would touch lest there wasn’t a choice, bring us our second round of ale. I’m not even feeling a slight buzz yet.”

    “I’m going to need help with the pitchers,” Hawke said and rose to his feet.

    “I’ll go. You never get my order right, anyway,” said Varric. “Riviani, weren’t you hungry?”

    Fenris sat tense while the others made arrangements. Anders had been eyeing him on and off during the course of the evening. He clearly had something to say and was most likely waiting for a snarky invitation, but Fenris had neither time or interest in indulging him. The lack of as much as a glare his way worked as a hint to Anders and he, too, decided to go with Hawke to order something to go along with the ale.

  Carver remained seated. He shook his leg impatiently and tugged at the skirt of his Warden uniform. Merrill sat at the end of the table, lost in her own world, oblivious to Carver clearing his throat to either get her attention or urge himself to muster the courage to speak. Fenris would have rolled his eyes at the scene had he not found himself in a similar position.

  “So… you have known your brother for a long time…” Fenris began. Carver jolted and looked back at him in surprise. “Your brother. You have known him for some time,” Fenris repeated.

    “Since I was born. So, yes, I have known him for some time.”

    Fenris clenched his jaw. He should have gone to Leandra instead.

   “Do you think it’s obvious when he is upset? Is there something he does when he isn’t happy?” Fenris asked.

    The questions sounded weirder spoken out loud than they did in his head. It was too late to take them back now. Fenris had no other choice but to suffer through Carver’s quizzical stare.

  “What are you asking me?” Carver was intrigued enough to turn his attention away from Merrill long enough to not be tongue-tied. “Have you upset my brother?”

    “No. No, I haven’t. It - it doesn’t matter why. I would just like to know, if he were upset, would we know about it?”

    “We definitely would. Listen, he doesn’t beat around the bush. He says what he needs to say and moves on. Sometimes it’s a sermon that would even bore the Grand Cleric, so you might want to brace yourself for that. What did you do to fall out of my brother’s good grace then? Tried to kill his dog?”

     Fenris shook his head, his mouth dry. Hawke had moved on. It would explain why he seemed carefree, without a trace of heartache anywhere. Objectively, it was good. Their night together would not be a thorn in their friendship. It was what Fenris had wanted, for Hawke not to suffer for him. And yet, the tug in his chest spoke of something different altogether and he wondered how long it would take for it to disappear.

 

 


End file.
